Linger
by Cheshiremask
Summary: Take a moment to just appreciate what you have.


A thick, solid ache settled in his chest as he slid out of bed, yawned, and headed for the bathroom. It was still there as he considered himself in the mirror, taking in the somewhat haggard look of his face before turning his attention to washing up and dealing with himself properly, brushing his teeth and his hair and putting on the face he always showed the world before pulling on his pants and looking for the carton of cigarettes he'd left on the side table beside the bed.

He flicked his lighter once, twice, before the spark from the flint finally caught. The room was quiet enough that he could hear the tiny crackle of the shreds of tobacco catching fire before he put the lighter down with a soft click and took a seat on the small chair behind the tiny table off to one side of his room, looking back at the still-occupied bed.

A long, slender leg peeked out from under the blanket; a gentle, beautiful curve of calf made his mouth water even as he just sat back to take in the sight. He let his eyes follow that silken skin down to a well-turned ankle, a finely shaped foot, the subtle crook of the joints of delicately curled toes. He smiled a little wider as he mused that he'd put that little bit of tension there. That it was just a tiny echo of the arc the ridge of spine still obscured by the blankets had described the night before.

There was a little shift and he froze, half afraid that his absence had been noticed, but everything fell still again soon enough, the blankets in a little more disarray than before, baring a little more skin to his appreciative eyes. He shouldn't have been so worried. Not everyone had his stamina. Shared his habits.

He sighed out a soft cloud of smoke as he took in the beauty of a hipbone, just teasing him with the silken look of the skin that covered it, the subtle ridges of muscle just above that spoke volumes of the care and pride and strength that had attracted him at first. His eyes went a little higher, the smooth skin stealing every scrap of his interest as the slightest hints of a ribcage made themselves known in slow, soft lines. More and the gentle, living rise and fall of breath was brought to his attention, then one rosy nipple accented by creamy white linen and snow-pale skin. The long line of an arm, haphazardly curled against the pillow, strong and smooth, giving way to a slender wrist and then long, deft fingers with healthy pink nails.

His examination complete, he let his eyes trail back down to the chest, the sweet, swooping curve of a collarbone, the tiny dip that lay between it and its twin, the way they drew attention to the shoulders, the perfect curve of muscle that hid strong, flexible joints. Back up again and he took in the long line of the throat; more flawless than the finest marble but warm and living and _real_. The gentle, nearly imperceptible flutter of that tiny, fragile pulse point sent a long rush of warmth through him, his chest constricting a little more as that heat centered there, rather than where it usually went.

Up again, finally, and he sighed again as he took in the strength of a perfect jaw-line. He knew the taste of that skin too…remembered the tiny sounds that had gusted past his ear as he'd learned it. His eyes traced it like his fingers had the night before, following the ridge and curve of a sharp cheekbone, the whorl of the ear, the noble line of the nose, the tiny smile that graced those beautiful, soft lips; sweet as honey and more addicting than the nicotine he'd been breathing since he was old enough to walk. Features that would have inspired the finest sculptor laid out for his eyes alone in this reverent silence.

He left the eyes for last and was surprised to see them open, shining with warmth that he had never seen before, never dreamed that he could have for himself. Those pure green orbs, more gloriously verdant than any forest of any god's creation. The ache in his chest became almost agonizing, heavy and painful and perfect as that loved hand shifted just enough to reach out to him, those perfect lips curled a little more, the honeyed voice that had woven a sweeter spell than any he'd ever known over him broke the silence:

"Come back to bed, Gojyo. It's cold without you."

He skinned back out of his pants, extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray beside his lighter, and complied, his heart all but bursting as Hakkai curled up against him as soon as he was settled under the covers.

It was the first pain he'd ever wished would never, ever go away.


End file.
